


Insatiable

by Robottko



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Biblical References, John is still just a human, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Mycroft is an Angel, Now complete, Sherlock is Death, Suicide Attempt, Supernatural Elements, death personified
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robottko/pseuds/Robottko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is the third child of God, born of sin and earth, forgotten as the man he is. He walks the earth, feeding off pain and destruction, but finding no delight in it. Not desiring human company, Death walks the earth alone, until one day he finds solace in an Army doctor who steals his victims by the dozens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Florida State Penitentiary

**Author's Note:**

> in·sa·tia·ble
> 
> /inˈsāSHəbəl/
> 
> Adjective
> 
> (of an appetite or desire) Impossible to satisfy: "an insatiable hunger"

 

 

**Ch. 1**

**Florida State Penitentiary**

The man sat on a bed of snow white sheets, twiddling his thumbs idly. Though his expression was calm, an inner storm brewed deep inside of him, and the blackest part of his soul raged with a vile fury. He had made fruitless plans to escape this hellhole; wonderful fantasies of kidnapping his wife, destroying the man who put him here, and never seeing a prison again. But here he sits, waiting for his final fate, waiting for the guards to take him away and make him sleep forever.  
The sounds of footsteps drawing near rips him from his reverie. Glowering at the sound, the man leans back against his bed, looking perfectly at ease.

“Jeremiah Hudson.” A guard, Maxwell Johnson, says. His last and final greeting. Hudson sits up and smirks at Johnson.

“Present.” His voice is just short of seething. “I don't suppose you're throwing a going away party for me? Thought not.” Standing, Hudson walks to the door, holding out his arms for the shackles. “I'm really going to miss you all.”

Shackled quickly, the guards lead Hudson down a long hallway, ignoring the jeers of the other prisoners.

Entering the cool, dark room at the end of the hall, Hudson is not surprised to find a bed not unlike the bed that was in his cell. The only difference was the dark black restraints that cut across the white rather violently.

 _Beautiful_ Hudson thought. _Poetic, a fine way to go_.

Strapped quickly to the bed of black-and-white, Hudson sighed, the vile thoughts settling down into mere musings. As the needle pierces his skin, he thinks back again to his lovely wife, the beauty he left on Baker Street. _I wonder if she thinks of me._

“Everyday.” A deep voice responds. “Though not in the way you would hope.”

Hudson's stomach drops out from underneath him, the pleasant thoughts of his wife dashed away by pure hatred. It's him, the creature that put him here. Struggling against the bonds that hold him down, Hudson tries desperately to get to the man. He wants to rip out his beautiful blue eyes.

“Tut tut, none of that.” The voice says again. “No one can see me, you know, it's rather pointless.”

“Delirium brought on by the drugs?” Hudson's voice is weak, but rough.

“Not at all.” The voice is amused now, “They can't see me because I am death.” With those words, a hand nearly as white as the sheets below him snakes across his vision. The hand, landing on his chest, feels ice cold. The cold seeps through his body, freezing his blood. “Enjoy hell, Mr. Hudson.”

The doctors sighed as the heart rate monitor flat-lined, and started to clean up the execution room. Nobody watched as a tall, black haired man left the room, pulling a black leather glove over his too-pale hand. Nobody noticed the man in the long coat sweep through the prison, seemingly at ease with his surroundings. Nobody saw Sherlock Holmes leave Florida state penitentiary.

Nobody saw Death.


	2. The Tree of Good and Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was born in an earlier time. A time of talking snakes and cursed apples, a time when his name wasn't Sherlock, but Sheol...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as Death and Destruction are never satisfied, so human desire is never satisfied. Proverbs 27:20 NLT

 

**Ch. 2**

**The Tree of Good and Evil**

He was born on a day of sunshine and sadness, fashioned out of sin and earth. The third child of God, he is hated for who he is and what he represents. Though millennia have passed, the day is clear in his mind, recalling his birth as though it were yesterday.  
__  
Green. The world is awash in it. Everywhere he looks is coated and covered and made of green. It is a beautiful sight, the green. He feels as though he can swim in it, taste it, feel it. Green. So distracted by the foliage, it takes him a minute to see the man and woman. He smiles at them, and they look upon him in horror.  
“His name is Sheol.” The Shining One says behind him. “And he is your punishment for sin. For no matter how far you run, he shall find you. For you were made from the dust, and to the dust you will return.”  
Thrilled by his new name, Sheol looks upon his new companions. Their skin is the same deep colour as the bark on the trees, their hair a rich black. Startled, he sees green leaves on their bodies, so he looks at himself to see if he grows leaves as well. His skin is not the warm brown as the others, but an icy white, smooth and unblemished. He is not adorned in leaves, but is fully naked for the man and woman to see. Unembarrassed, he examines himself closely, taking in every detail about himself.  
Sheol looks up again to find The Shining One clothing the man and woman in animal skins. He waits patiently, and soon The Shining One adorns him in skins as well, but he is given something that the man and woman are not.  
“These gloves protect those around you from your powers.” The Shining One said, putting the strange, black skins on his hands. “For you take life, not give it. You did not eat of the tree, so you shall not suffer from it, but are death. You shall live forever.”  
Sheol nodded, unable to decipher what The Shining One was talking about. Take life? Remove it from the body? He smiles at The Shining One, biding him goodbye as he leaves the world of green.

__  
It takes weeks before the man and woman trust him, though he does not mind. He learns of their names, Adam and Eve, and he learns of their story. The first and second children of God, they were born without sin.  
“As was I. I am like you.” Sheol mistakenly says, happy of their companionship. They sneer at him.  
“No, you were born of sin.” They tell him, “Sin and Destruction. You are not like us.”  
It is several days before Sheol talks to them again.  
When he does, he learns that the woman, Eve, is with child. Happy at the prospect of new friends, Sheol forgets the harsh words of Adam and Eve, hoping that this new child will accept him more readily than it's parents.  
And he does. Little Cain looks up to Sheol as a friend and brother. Sheol finds joy in Cain, and later Abel, and he believes that they shall live forever in peace and joy.

It isn't until several year's later that Sheol discovers the true terror of The Shining One's gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sheol: The abode of the dead in the bible.  
> I was frustrated looking for a different name for Sherlock, when I happened to stumble upon it looking at different variations for the verse above:  
> Sheol and destruction are insatiable; so the eyes of man are never satisfied. Proverbs 27:20 Darby Bible Translation.  
> I thought it was absolutely perfect; it is Sherlock's name, minus the C, R, and K. Those letters will be introduced later...
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read the story up to here. I've been typing furiously away at chapter 3, which is looking like it will be twice or three times the size of this chapter. You are all marvellous, and I would hug each and everyone one of you if you lived closer to me, and you wouldn't find it so creepy. 
> 
> Naturally,  
> Robottko


	3. Cain and Abel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shining One visits Sheol and his friend-brothers...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Death may be the greatest of all human blessings."  
> -Socrates

 

**Ch. 3**

**Cain and Abel**

 

“Sheol!” A voice called, full of excitement. The sound pulls Sheol from his thoughts, and he looks at the leaves around him in mild surprise, as if the tree had grown around him instead of him climbing it just this morning. “Sheol!” The voice calls again, and Sheol knows that it is his friend-brother looking for him. Sheol looked down from his tree branch, a smile creeping over his face.

“I am up here, Cain.” Sheol chuckles, and Cain looks up both startled and relieved. “You are acting as if I had ran away.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Cain scoffs, watching Sheol drop gracefully to the ground. “If it weren’t for Abel and me, I would imagine you travelling far and wide, exploring new lands and having grand adventures.”

“All alone?” Sheol asks, raising a dark eyebrow. “I would much rather you and Abel come with me. The adventure would be all the more exciting.”

Cain huffs a laugh, grabbing a hold of Sheol’s shoulder, pulling him in the direction Cain had just come from. “You know Abel and I cannot leave mother and father! They need our help caring for the young ones, ploughing the fields and tending to the animals…” Cain frowns, a wistful look appearing on his face. “Perhaps, when the young ones are old enough to help, we can adventure.”

Sheol smiles at his friend-brother, knowing that the likelihood of travelling with them is low. But he agrees with him quietly, if only to appease him. 

Another shout startles Sheol, and he looks up to see Abel running towards them, a grin on his face.

“Sheol! Cain! Did you hear the news?” He looks excited, “The Shining One plans on visiting us!”

“The Shining One?” Cain asks, surprise clear on his face. “He wants to visit us here?” The surprise turns to joy, then to terror. “We haven’t done anything wrong, have we brother?”

“No no!” Abel stops in front of them, winded from his run. “He’s visiting us with good tidings!”

“We must prepare for his visit.” Sheol said, his smile mirroring the younger man’s. “And I suggest you two take the time to find a gift.”

“A gift?” Abel wondered, “What could we give The Shining One that he doesn’t have already?”

“Perhaps something you grew or herded yourself?” Sheol suggested, “Show him the hard work you two have been doing, he shall be proud to see it.”

“An excellent idea.” Cain grinned, his gaze flickering in the direction of his impressive garden. “How long do we have?”

“According to mother, he shall arrive tomorrow.” Abel said, his own brow furrowing. Sheol smiled at his youngest friend-brother.

“Worry not, Abel. I am sure The Shining One will love your gift.” He reassured him. Abel just nodded, a look of determination spreading across his face.

“I need all night to prepare.” He said, breaking away from their small group and dashing towards his livestock. “I want my gift to be perfect!”

Sheol watched him go, clearly amused. Cain chuckled behind him.

“Thank goodness my garden is already perfect. I’ll throw something together tomorrow.”

\--

It was clear to Sheol who had spent the most time on their gift to The Shining One. Abel’s gift of meats was lovely, and it was clear that he had chosen from only the best of his livestock. Cain’s gift, however was lacking. It was clear he had thrown it together that morning, and he hadn’t even used his best vegetables. Cain caught Sheol’s eye, and merely shrugged, a slightly cocky smile graced his lips. Sheol did nothing but shake his head, turning to watch as The Shining One arrived.

“My children.” The Shining One said, his voice low and warm. “It is wonderful to see you.”

“We brought you gifts!” Abel burst, his face in awe. The Shining One responded with a low chuckle that reminded Sheol of his own laugh.

“I see that. And such wonderful gifts.” The Shining One looked at their gifts now. “Thank you Cain for your vegetables. You’re harvesting pleases me.” The Shining One said politely, turning to Abel’s gifts. “Abel, did you use the best of your livestock?”

“I did.” Abel smiled sheepishly, looking at his feet.

“My son, thank you. This means more than you know.” The Shining One’s face glowed with pride and love. Cain shot an annoyed glance at Abel before speaking.

“My plants are far more numerous than his livestock.” He said, his voice infused with pride.

“Pride is not a redeeming quality.” The Shining One admonished. “Abel’s gift was well thought out, yours thrown together. While I am pleased by both, Abel’s is the better one.”

Only Sheol noticed Cain’s face darken.

\--

“You made me look bad!” Cain yelled, rounding on Abel when The Shining One left. “You’re always trying to make me look bad!”

“No, brother!” Abel said, shaking his head furiously, placing a comforting hand on Cain’s shoulder. “I would never-”

“Shut up!” Cain pushed Abel away, “you’ve always been jealous of me! You’re jealous because I’m better, you’re jealous because I’m older, you’re jealous because Sheol is closer to me!”

Sheol tried to get between the brothers, placing his hands out to keep them at bay. The black gloves the Shining One gave him contrasting with his white arms. “Friend-brothers, please-”

“Maybe if you had tried harder, The Shining One would have liked your gift better!” Abel yelled, ignoring Sheol.

Anger worse than Sheol had ever seen passed over Cain’s face, and before Sheol could stop him, Cain had picked up a rock, throwing it as hard as he could at his brother.          

The rock soared quickly through the air, missing Cain’s target of Abel’s shoulders, and hitting him in the head instead. Abel crumpled to the ground, and Sheol saw the oddest thing.

It was as if the young man was glowing. The aura was powerful, and Sheol had the desire to reach out and touch, to feel the glow of Abel. Peeling off a glove, Sheol walked over slowly, transfixed by the warmth. He bent down, placing his hand gently over the brightest part of the glow, right in the centre of his chest.

The glow was gone, disappearing as suddenly as it had come, and Sheol looked down in confusion. He shook Abel’s shoulder gently.

“Abel, awaken.” Sheol said. Abel did not respond, so Sheol shook him harder. “Abel!”

Cain walked over, his anger fading to worry. “What has happened, Sheol?”

“Your brother will not wake up.” Sheol said, clearly frustrated.

Cain bent down as well, pressing his hand to where the glow had appeared. Panic spread across Cain’s face, and he shook Abel harder. “Brother! Wake up, oh please wake up.”

“He will not awaken.” A quite voice said. Sheol and Cain looked up to see a man standing over them.

“Who are you?” Cain asked, falling away from his brother.

“I am an angel, a warrior of The Shining One. Cain, you have murdered your brother.”

“Murdered?”

“His heart will beat no more.” The angel said simply. Turning to Sheol, the angel extended a hand. “I have come for Abel’s soul.”

Sheol looked at the angel, shaking his head. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“The glow.” The angel looked impatient. “That was the soul trying to leave the body. It can never leave fully without your help.”

Sheol looked in horror at young Abel. “This is my fault?”

“No, it is Cain’s.” The angel fixed his icy stare on Cain. Stumbling to his feet, the young man backed away from Sheol, pain and terror in his face.

“Leave me alone, I did nothing wrong.” Cain cried. “Go away!”

“Cain…” Sheol stood as well, but his friend-brother turned away and ran.

Sheol and the angel watched as the young man disappeared. Turning to Sheol, the angel extended his hand. “The soul?”

Sheol lifted his un-gloved hand and clasped the angels, a brief flash of light flickering between the hands before vanishing.

“Thank you.” The angel smiled tightly before turning away.

“What are you going to do to him?” Sheol asked, panicking slightly.

“Bring him to paradise.” The angel said softly, turning back to Sheol. “He gets to rest in comfort forever with The Shining One.”

Sheol nodded once, his head tilting questioningly.

“You have questions.” The angel stated, his face amused.

“Just one. What is your name?” Sheol blurted out.

“My name?” The angel chuckled. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because you are taking away my friend-brother.” Sheol said hotly.   

The angel shook his head, the small smirk still tugging at his lips.

“I have many names. I am an arc-angel, beloved by The Shining One.” The angel’s smile softened lightly. “But you may call me Mycroft.”


	4. The Angel Gabriel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. -Mark Twain

**Ch. 4**

**The Angel Gabriel**

 

 

Meetings with Mycroft became more frequent, and Sheol begins to think of the angel as a sort of brother. Mycroft seems to have similar sentiments, for he often visits Sheol even when there hasn’t been a death. The frequent visits begin to occur not long after Sheol’s third soul collecting.

_Sheol looks down at the glowing body. It’s a young child, and her parents are crying, sobbing that their daughter is dying and that there is nothing they can do about it. Shaking, Sheol stretches out an ungloved hand, drawing the light away from the girl. The sorrow is far too much for him, and he begins to cry along with the parents, wishing he brought life instead of taking it away._

_“Sheol.” The voice behind him calls. Mycroft. “Come with me.”_

_Sheol follows, his body trembling from grief. The angel draws him away from the family. They’ve forgotten that Sheol was there already, a strange side effect of death._

_Mycroft grips Sheol’s shoulders gently, encouraging him to look at the angel._

_“Sheol, caring is not an advantage.” Mycroft speaks kindly. “You will only hurt yourself if you continue your work this way.”_

_Sheol merely nods, trying to stop the sadness and hurt. Mycroft speaks truth, of course. To remember and care about everyone would slowly destroy Sheol, whittling away at him until there was nothing left._

Sheol knows that Mycroft is visiting him frequently to make sure he isn’t affected by the deaths, and he works hard to make the angel proud. Mycroft visits him so much, that Sheol begins to wonder if he is the only angel in heaven. It isn’t until later that he meets Gabriel.

 

Sheol follows Abraham and Isaac up the mountain, enjoying the way the boy skips along. The Shining One has ordered Abraham to sacrifice his son, though both Abraham and Sheol know that it’s merely a test of loyalty. The trek is long, and the boy and his father soon grow weary, though Sheol remains unaffected. They soon reach the mountain top, and Abraham begins to make preparations for the sacrifice. Sheol starts to worry when a sacrifice doesn’t come, and his worry becomes panic when Abraham ties Isaac down and lifts the knife to finish the sacrifice.

 

Suddenly a hand reaches out to stop Abrahams. The newcomer holds Abraham’s arm gently. “Do not sacrifice your son, Abraham. There is a sheep in the bush over there, a gift from The Shining One. Sacrifice the sheep instead.” Sheol realises that this is an angel as well. He is different from Mycroft, his hair is silver, and the kind smile on his face puts everyone at ease.

 

After the sacrifice, Sheol waits for Abraham and Isaac to leave before turning to the angel.

“Who are you?” He asks quickly, not wanting him to vanish. The angel smiles at him.

“I am known as the arc-angel Gabriel.” He says softly. “But you may call me Greg.”

“I didn’t realise that there were other angels besides Mycroft.” Sheol mused. “Do you know him?”

Greg chuckled softly. “There are thousands of angels in heaven, but I do know Mycroft. He is my partner.”

“Partner?”

“Humans lack the proper term.” Greg said patiently. “Here one might call it marriage, but it is far stronger than that. We were created for one another.”

Sheol nods, trying to understand. Greg smiles, trying to explain it better.

“The idea of marriage mates one body to another. But in heaven, it isn’t just our bodies, but our souls as well.”

“Soul mates?” Sheol tries the word out, and Greg nods.

“Yes, that is a proper term. Mycroft is my soul mate.”

“Does everyone get a soul mate?” Sheol asks before he can stop himself. Greg understands what he is trying to say.

“Yes, everyone gets a soul mate. Yours is being perfected.” Greg smiles, “I must go now, but I shall see you again.”

“Yes,” Sheol says, not paying attention when Greg vanishes.

 

From that moment on, Sheol’s thoughts are consumed with his future soul mate. He wonders when he’ll meet this person, what their name will be, what they’ll be like. Will they be a soul collector like Sheol is? A harbinger of death? Or will they be the Greg to his Mycroft. Similar, but opposite? Every time Sheol see’s Mycroft or Greg after that, he asks about his soul mate, but his soul mate is never ready.

“Soon, Sheol.” Greg says soothingly. Mycroft is less gentle.

“Alone is safe right now.” He tells him. “Alone is what protects you.”

But years pass, and there is still no sign of his soul mate, and Sheol gives up hope.

 

After all, love only comes when you’re least expecting it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This took me unbearably long to write. I cannot believe this story has people who are following and favoriting it. You are all lovely, and your reviews make my entire week. In fact, I'm still grinning foolishly at review from the last chapter, and I posted that almost a month ago. Next chapter, we might see a bit of John. I don't want you waiting too long to see him, for fear of boring you, so I'll think about giving you a taste. 
> 
>  
> 
> Kisses, hugs and antique rugs,
> 
> Robottko


	5. Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pale Death beats equally at the poor man's gate and at the palaces of kings.
> 
> -Horace

**Ch. 5**

**Hands**

 

_2005_

 

Mycroft watched the pale, dark haired man warily, his fingers tapping on the ornate desk in front of him. The other man shifted in his chair impatiently, his icy gaze revealing nothing.

“Sheol-“

“Mycroft, really.” The other said shortly. “Do you not pay attention? I do not go by that name any more.”

“Oh?” Mycroft matched his tone. “And what are you called now, may I ask?”

“Sherlock.” The brunette said, his eyes flashing.

“Sherlock. An odd choice, but it fits. How did you come upon this name?” Mycroft asked.

“A play off ‘Sheol,’ naturally.” Sherlock’s voice was bored, “I adopted a few letters from my past…clients. Now, you didn’t call me here to discuss my name choices, did you?”

“Obviously not.” Mycroft rolled his eyes, leaning back in his leather chair. “You haven’t been doing your duties.”

“I’ve been performing them just fine, Mycroft.” Sherlock growled.

“In the civilian world, perhaps. But there is a war going on out there, and we need you-”

“ _Need me?”_ Sherlock stood abruptly, leaning on the desk to better glare at Mycroft. “You don’t _need_ me, you’re merely stuck with me.”

“Sherlock, calm down.” Mycroft snapped, and the anger vanished from Sherlock’s face, replaced with a cool indifference. “I would have thought you would have been over whatever tiff we had before.”

“After what you did to me?” Sherlock snorted. “No, I believe I have earned my right to be angry.”

“Fine, hold onto your childish anger.” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “But go save the souls of the men at war. They have done nothing to harm you.”

“Yes, _fine.”_ Sherlock straightened up finally, “I will go and save their perfect little souls.”

He stalked away, turning around when he reached the door, a smirk gracing his face.

“Oh, and Mycroft?” His voice was lofty. “You have been spending too much time with the mortals on earth. You’ve been gaining weight.”

And with that, he departed in a whirl of his coat.

\--

Afghanistan was, as always, brutally hot. Being dressed in dark colours didn’t do anything to alleviate that fact. But he refused to remove his gloves until he actually needed to take a soul. His youth was filled with souls taken entirely too young because of a careless gesture or a friendly embrace.

 

Sighing, Sherlock made his way to the makeshift morgue on the army base. It was his 36th base that day, and he was already growing weary of reaping the souls. But worse fates awaited those who weren’t collected in a seemly manner. Sherlock shuddered, repressing the terrible memories that seemed to lap at his consciousness at an increasingly frequent manner.

 

With a final press of his hand, Sherlock collected the last of the souls, preparing to move on to his next destination when he feels a gentle tugging, holding him back.

_‘Ah, another person about to die.’_ He mused as a commotion begins nearby the tent he’s currently in.

 

Leaving the makeshift morgue, Sherlock strolled to the source of the commotion, unsurprised to find a slew of doctors surrounding a man who has already started to glow.

_‘You cannot save him.’_ Sherlock thought to the faceless mass. ‘ _He is too far gone.’_

 

Sherlock has seen this millions of times since his life on earth began. The frail humans pounding at the chest of the dying one, even as his soul begins to glow. But the humans choose not to see the glow, just as they choose not to see Sherlock. They could see him if they really tried, but they would rather write off death as a necessary evil as opposed to an actual human.

_‘No, not human.’_ Sherlock corrected himself. _‘More than human. Better.’_

 

He walked up to the dying man, ignoring the doctors that are frantically milling around him. They are unimportant. Why bother memorising their faces when he would just have to watch them die later? His eyes focused on the one who is dying, and he removed his leather glove, reaching a hand out to take the man’s soul.

 

Placing his hand over the man’s heart, Sherlock began to draw his soul gently out of his body. He is startled when a highly tanned hand slapped over his.

_‘Can he see me?’_ Sherlock wondered. He stared at the hand that was place atop of his, bewilderment and shock freezing him in place.

 

“Live, Murray!” A voice said. ‘ _The hand’s voice’_ Sherlock realised. The owner of the hand didn’t see Sherlock, but was attempting to save his comrade. The tall brunette smirked slightly, looking up at the doctor.

 

He is handsome, no doubt. He has a kind face, which suited him well in his profession. Sherlock studied the man, annoyed to feel a twinge of _something_. Guilt, perhaps, that this kind doctor couldn’t save his friend?

 

Sherlock shrugged as he pushed aside his surprised that the doctor’s soul was still in his body. _‘Perhaps I cannot take souls through the hands.’_ He attempted to reason with himself. But he knew this wasn’t accurate. He had taken Johann Sebastian Bach with just a brushing of his fingertips against the composer’s wrist. ‘ _No matter, I’ll think about it later. As for the matter at hand-’_

Sherlock glanced back at the body the blue eyed doctor had referred to as Murray, shocked that the glowing was receding.

 

‘ _Impossible…’_

Sherlock stared as the doctor’s hand, which lay over his, coaxed Murray’s soul back into his body. He watched as the familiar glow, the sign that the soul has left the body, reconnected to its earthly flesh. Sherlock turned to the blued eyed doctor once more, studying him as his face lit up with joy as the heart monitor returned to a normal pace.

 

‘ _Who are you?’_

“You saved him!” Another doctor cried.

 

“We saved him.” The blue eyed doctor said, clapping a hand- _that hand_ \- on the other doctor’s shoulder.

 

“Thank you, Doctor Watson.”

 

_‘Doctor Watson…what are you?’_

 

Sherlock stared at Doctor Watson, and for a second, barely a millisecond, the doctor’s eyes met his. Sherlock’s eyes widened, even as Watson looked away. He would be convincing himself he was imagining things, Sherlock knew, but the man still _saw_ him.

 

Sherlock turned on his heel, leaving the medical tent as fast as he could. Mortals rarely saw Sherlock, especially if he didn’t want them to see him. But this man, Doctor Watson, had not only seen him, but stolen a soul right out of his very grasp.

 

Sherlock was entirely unsure of what to make of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am so, so sorry that it took such a long time to write this chapter. I really have no excuse either, just a lot of rewrites. I wasn't really happy with how it was turning out when I first started it.   
> Don't worry, I will go back and explain why Sherlock doesn't like Mycroft, and also what happens to souls when they aren't collected. Promise! I just needed to get a bit of John in here (so you don't hate me completely!)
> 
> I love you all. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> Berry shakes and clear blue lakes,
> 
> Robottko


	6. Of Emperors and Kings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You never realise death until you realise love.  
> -Katharine Butler Hathaway

 

Ch. 6

Of Kings and Emperors

_1002_

 

“Mycroft, I have found my soul-mate!” Sheol announced after a long day of soul collecting. “It has taken thousands of years, but he has finally come to me.”

 

He watched at Mycroft looked over at Greg in confusion. Sheol wondered if The Shining One, or God, as he was currently called, had mentioned to the angels that his soul-mate was ready. It would certainly explain why Greg and Mycroft had never told him that he should be looking.

 

“And who might this soul-mate of yours be?” Greg asked after a long minute, a pleasant smile on his face. Though the idea of Sheol’s soul-mate appearing without word from God was worrisome, the joy on Sheol’s face was enough to make anyone smile.

 

“His name is Otto.” Sheol said with pride. “He’s intelligent, kind and the Holy Roman Emperor.”

 

“The Emperor?” Mycroft asked, looking faintly alarmed. “Why on earth would you think him your soul-mate?”

 

“He understands me.” Sheol said, looking a little uncertain. “He knows what I am, yet he does not judge me. He is the most intelligent human I’ve met.”

 

“Guard your heart, Sheol.” Greg said wisely. “Do not let it go unprotected.”

 

“I won’t.” Sheol promised Greg solemnly. “I will watch over it.”

 

\--

 

Emperor Otto III had been the Holy Roman Emperor for nearly six years. A handsome man around the age of twenty one, he ruled Germany and the Roman Empire with an iron fist, letting nothing stand in his way.

 

The next day the Emperor and his men planned to make their way to Rome, waiting to ensure his rule on the grand city. But for now he stays in the small town of Civita Castellana, waiting for his love to come to him.

 

“Otto!” A familiar voice cries, and the brown haired Emperor turns, a smile on his face.

 

“Sheol” He responds in earnest, clasping the leather clad hands of the taller man. Sheol smiles down at Otto, joy clear on his face.

 

“It has only been a day that I’ve been gone, yet I’ve missed you every second of it.” Sheol said as he brushed the brown hair away from Otto’s brow. Otto sighed, leaning into the touch.

 

“I know it.” He responded. “It is why I waited for you here. I couldn’t focus upon our conquest, so I told my general I had a fever and needed to stop.”

 

Sheol chuckled, cupping Otto’s cheek gently. “I could have found you in Rome.”

 

“The idea of not being able to pay attention to you…it drove me mad.” Otto grinned. “And I needed an extra day with you. Princess Zoe is on her way to Rome for our impending marriage.”

 

“Ah.” Sheol frowned, taking a step back. “Your marriage. I forgot, naturally.”

 

“Don’t be hurt, Sheol!” Otto said, closing the distance once more. “I plan to break it off with her. I don’t know her, nor do I love her.”

 

“The Byzantine Empire shall be furious with you.” Sheol said softly.

 

“I care not.” Otto said forcefully. “For I have you. I love you, Sheol.”

 

Sheol sucked in a breath, looking down at the young Emperor with wonder. He had never been loved before, and it was a marvellous feeling.

 

“I would like to try something.” Sheol said as a grin spread across his face. “I believe you to be my soul-mate. If this is true, you should be safe from my curse.”

 

“Not a curse, Sheol. A gift.” Otto corrected as he had many times before. “And I don’t care about the risks.”

 

“But I do.” Sheol said. “I don’t want you to die because of me.”

 

“But I shall die anyway.” Otto said. Sheol’s face swiftly became horrified, and Otto held up a placating hand. “Listen to me. It is true. Human’s cannot live forever, and if it gives me the chance to be with you forever, then I shall take it.”

 

“I do not see the souls once they move on.” Sheol explained slowly.

 

“But there must be a way.” Otto said. “Your angel-brother Mycroft, he must know some way.”

 

“I shall ask him.” Sheol said, smiling slightly.

“Now, what was it that you wanted to try?” Otto asked.

 

“I would like for you to kiss me.” Sheol said softly, his pale face going slightly pink. “I believe it would be mutually beneficial. And perhaps if you began the contact and you aren’t my soul-mate, then you might be spared.”

 

Otto smiled slightly, reaching forward to grasp Sheol’s highly embroidered tunic, pulling the taller man closer.

 

“I shall consider you my soul-mate even if I pass on.” He said, leaning forward to press his lips to Sheol’s.

 

It started off as a chaste kiss, but quickly elevated into something more passionate. Lips, warm and slick, moved against each other in a sloppy caress that sent jolts of electricity through both of the young men. When Otto began to slow his pace, Sheol followed his lead happily, placing each of his gloved hands on Otto’s face, pulling him closer. He only stopped when Otto did, pulling back to look at his love with a smile on his face. The sight of the other man made him freeze in place.

 

Otto was dead.

 

“No.” Sheol said, his eyes going wide. “You were my soul-mate, you can’t have died. Please come back to me.”

 

Laying Otto on the ground, Sheol began to tremble, tears flowing down his cheeks. Otto was not supposed to die, he hadn’t had the glow of leaving soul. Placing his hands on Emperor’s chest, he tried to will the soul back into his body, but to no avail. Otto was gone.

 

\--

 

“Mycroft, you have to help me.” Sheol began as soon as he saw the angel. Mycroft looked up from his desk, frowning at Sheol.

 

“You have his soul.” Mycroft commented lightly, noting the tears running down his face. “I’m sorry, Sheol, there’s nothing I can do. You removed his soul before his time.”

 

“But you can put it back, correct?” Sheol asked, sounding hopeful.

 

“I cannot.” Mycroft shook his head, striding over to Sheol with an outstretched hand. “Once a soul is removed completely, it is against God’s rules to put it back.”

 

“Can I see him, then?” Sheol asked softly, watching as Otto’s glow passed from his body to Mycroft’s.

 

“That is also against the rules. I’m sorry, Sheol.” Mycroft said. Sheol began to panic at the thought of never seeing his love again.

 

“Then take me.” Sheol said. “I don’t want to perform this job anymore.”

 

“No.” Mycroft said sternly.

 

“I know you can do it.” Sheol said, anger stirring in his stomach. “Remove me from my position, let me die.”

 

“I will not.” Mycroft said, not denying the fact that it could happen. “We need someone to do your job well, or bad things could happen.”

 

“Anyone could do this job!” Sheol said hotly. “Take anyone off the street and force it upon them!”

 

“You are trying to throw away yourself because of one idiot king?” Mycroft asked, his eyebrows raising. “He was never your soul-mate, Sheol.”

 

“He wasn’t an idiot!” Sheol growled back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I loved him.”

 

“And you killed him.” Mycroft retorted. “I will not remove you from your duties. You are stuck with them forever, and we are stuck with you.”

 

Sheol took a step back, hurt swimming through his eyes. He stared at his angel-brother in confusion and anger. How could Mycroft deny him this one request? He had never asked for anything like this before.

 

“Please, Mycroft. I-“

 

“No, Sheol. You’ve done quite enough already. Please, see yourself out.” Mycroft sighed wearily.

 

Sheol didn’t need to be told twice. Turning on his heel, he darted out of the angel’s office. Mycroft watched him go, not realising that he wouldn’t see the man for another thousand years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is some one in history that you want Sheol/Sherlock to encounter, please tell me, and I would be more than willing to write about it! Feel free to leave a comment or message me on my Tumblr (Robottko) and I will totally do that for you!
> 
> -Otto III (June, 980-January 23, 1002) became King of Germany at the early age of three, though several people served as regent until he reached adult hood at the age of 14. In 996 he became both the King of Italy and the Holy Roman Emperor as well. He died in the Civita Castellana (approximately 65 km north of Rome) from fever complications. He had no spouse, and no heirs. 
> 
> A/N: Thank you so much for your amazing patience as I continue to be the worst author ever. You are all such lovely people, and you deserve daily updates, truly you do. Next chapter: More John!
> 
> Candy canes and picture frames,
> 
> Robottko


	7. Namesakes and Army Doctors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Life has to end,' she said. 'Love doesn't.”  
> ― Mitch Albom

Ch. 7

_2007_

It could only be considered stalking if the participant was uncomfortable with the idea of being watched, Sherlock convinced himself, and this Doctor Watson neither knew of his existence, nor objected to his surveillance, so there was no harm in checking up on the doctor, really. Whenever he wasn’t busy collecting souls, Sherlock went searching for Doctor Watson, studying the man. At first he convinced himself that he wanted to find out how the blond had kept Sherlock from taking the soul of Murray, but all too soon he realised that he was merely curious about the man in general. Not that the protection of the soldier’s soul became unimportant, but rather became one of many reasons why Death found Doctor Watson so interesting.

 

Two years after discovering the existence of Doctor Watson, Sherlock was still unable to figure out the secret behind the man. He was a man of solitude, and a man who had many friends. He was cheerful, sombre, snarky and polite. This was a man of many facets, all coming together to create a cohesive whole. Sherlock couldn’t get enough.

 

The man was extraordinary in his own right. Sherlock had spent thousands of years studying the human race, both part of it, and completely separated from it, and he had never met a man as interesting as John. Sherlock, though he probably wouldn’t have noticed John right away, would still have been intrigued if he hadn’t had the ability to save souls.

 

Not that the army doctor realised he was doing it, of course.  As Sherlock studied John, he realised that the man couldn’t see the aura that souls produced. John began working hard before the aura appeared, and his hand stayed far longer than necessary on whomever the good doctor had saved that day. If he could see the aura, he would wait until the soul began to shine before placing his hand on the patient’s chest.

 

It was there in the hot Afghani sun that Greg found him. It had been a long day for the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, and the doctors at the camp were busy trying to rescue the soldiers that had been shot during the small scuffle between themselves and heavily armed locals. Sherlock had managed to take two of the men before Doctor Watson showed up, making it impossible to retrieve any. Sherlock sat outside the camp, watching the men walk around with little interest. He would be in the medical area, but John seemed to catch glimpses of him more often every day, and the idea of a mortal being able to see him without his express permission made Sherlock wary.

 

“I’ve never seen you take such an avid interest in a mortal before.” Greg’s voice floated from behind him, and Sherlock turned to glare. “Not even with your name-sakes, or Otto.”

 

“How do you know my name sakes?” Sherlock asked, avoiding the topic of Otto. Though it had happened so long ago, the memories were painful.

 

Greg grinned at Sherlock, sitting down next the brunet. “Easy, really. Your given name, Sheol, was missing a few choice letters. Those letters happen to fit up with your more interesting deaths.”

 

“The ‘C’ comes from Cain’s name, and his death was hardly interesting.” Sherlock huffed.

 

“No, you’re correct.” Greg mused. “But he is the cause of the first soul you had to reap.”

 

Sherlock stayed silent for a moment, annoyed that Greg was correct. Angels could be difficult to deal with on the best of days. “And of the ‘R’ and the ‘K’?”

 

“The ‘K’ comes from Kublai Khan, one of your most interesting adversaries. I don’t believe I’ve ever met someone so unwilling to die. The ‘R’ is for Raphael, the Renaissance painter.” Greg replied easily. “Simple enough for anyone that knows you. Now why this man?”

 

“I assume you are talking of Doctor John Watson?” Sherlock said, his patience growing brittle at Greg’s words. He was correct of course, and that did nothing to improve his mood. “He’s interesting.”

 

“Interesting how?” Greg asked curiously.

 

“He has the power to steal souls from me.” Sherlock stated, watching as Greg’s face went slack in shock.

 

“What do you mean, he can steal souls from you?” Greg asked slowly.

 

“Have you lost the ability to understand basic language?” Sherlock snapped. “I said he steals souls from me. They begin to glow, and he pushes them back into their bodies without realising it, no matter how hard I tug.”

 

“But…that’s impossible.” Greg frowned. “That shouldn’t-oh!”

 

“What? What is it?” Sherlock asked, surprised when realisation dawned on Greg’s face. “What do you know?”

 

“I am not positive if I know anything.” Greg replied, “But I must go, and so must you. There is an American daredevil whose time has come. He shall be an interesting man to meet.” And with that, Greg vanished, leaving a very annoyed Sherlock behind.

 

Sherlock glowered at the spot Greg had been in for a few moments before vanishing as well, making his way towards the United States. The silver haired angel might not have told him anything today, but it never took long to get information out of him. It was how Sherlock had managed to avoid Mycroft for so long, though the arch-angel had insisted on monthly meetings ever since they had been reunited in 2005.

 

Sherlock would find out what Greg knew about John, however, even if it was the last thing he did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The daredevil I am referring to is Evel Knievel, who died on November 30th, 2007 from pulmonary disease in Florida. 
> 
> Today (August 31st) is my birthday, and as a birthday gift to all of you, I have decided to update this fic! (I just...I really enjoy giving presents, okay?) I apologize profusely that it has taken me over three months to update. Some personal drama happened as I began this chapter, and it has been difficult to get to my computer and sit down to write. You all deserve so much better than this, and I promise I will work harder to get chapters out in the future. You are all such lovely people, and you shower my measly little fic with your beautiful kudos and comments. Seriously, I would hug you if I could. I am so so so blessed to have you read this, really I am. Keep being amazing, okay?
> 
> Summer days and Milky Ways,  
> Robottko


	8. Kublai

Ch. 8

_Of all the gods only death does not desire gifts._

_Aeschylus_

1294

Kublai Khan, fourth son of Tolui, grandson of Genghis Khan, was a powerful man indeed. Sheol had seen his work as he reaped souls, admiring the man’s strength from afar. He had come up close and personal to the leader when he took the soul of Chabi, his favourite wife.

 

Kublai had withdrawn from social functions after that, which greatly saddened Sheol. To see someone so powerful cut down by death was unbearable for him to see.

 

Six years later, he took Kublai’s favourite son, Zhenjin.

 

Kublai Khan’s military began to fail, and he sank into a deep depression, eating and drinking far more than he used to. His time was coming.

 

All too soon, it was time to take the soul of the great Kublai Khan, and the man came peacefully, his glow almost warm. Of course, that could be Sheol’s fanciful nature, but as he handed the soul to Greg, a bit of that warmth receded.

 

“Thank you, Sheol.” Greg said to him, a smile on his face. “You do such excellent work.”

 

“Will he see his wife and son?” Sheol asked.

 

“Yes. They are waiting for him.” Greg replied.

 

“Good.” Sheol nodded once. He turned, beginning to walk away, but turned back at the last minute. “I am thinking of changing my name…the world has changed so much since I was born.”

 

“What shall you call yourself?” Greg asked, curiosity in his voice.

 

“I am not sure.” Sheol replied. “I feel as though I’m missing a piece of the puzzle still.”

 

“Well, there is a Renaissance artist coming that I am sure you’ll be fond of.” Greg smiled, looking positively mischievous.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Mmm, yes. His name is Raphael. Watch for him. Then your name shall be complete.”

 

“Thank you.” Sheol said, and he returned to Earth to continue his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trash. I am so sorry that this has taken nearly a YEAR to update, and my only excuses are that I'm trash, and I was distracted by my other fics. Mostly because I'm trash. 
> 
> This chapter is really really short and you deserve so much more but guess what?!?! I'll be updating on August 31st so you have an actual update date to look forward to! 
> 
> Next chapter the story really gets started, and our favorite army doctor is back for good....


	9. John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On this day, August 31st, in 1990, a child by the name of Robottko was born. It was decreed that every year on her birthday, she shall update every fanfiction that is a WIP. So, it is with great honor that I present to you this update.

_2010_

 

 _‘No no no no no no no no this can’t be happening this is impossible’_ The never ending stream of panic washed through Sherlock’s mind as he raced to Afghanistan, heading for a camp that he knew well. ‘ _No nononononononONONO!’_

John Watson had been shot. John Watson had been unprotected because Sherlock had been in a meeting with Mycroft and Greg, and he had been _shot_ and he had no one to blame but himself. The logical part of his mind told him that he wasn’t to blame, but he couldn’t _think_ right now.

Gunshots echoed through the camp, and Sherlock could see the glowing from fallen men and women, but he had eyes for only one body.

John Watson lay near the medical tent, his shoulder bleeding profusely. The man that he had been helping was alive, but unconscious, most likely due to John’s mysterious abilities. But John…his soul was beginning to show, the glow seeming brighter than the rest. Sherlock bent down, placing black gloved hands on his chest, willing his soul to re-enter his body.

“Please, you cannot die.” Sherlock said, his throat constricting rather suddenly. He hadn’t realised just how important John had become to him. “You have to live, John.”

John continued to glow, and the instinct to pull his soul from his body began to take over, consuming his mind. His breathing was steady, and Sherlock watched the rise and fall of his chest, pulling off the glove of his right hand and placing it on John’s chest.

Nothing happened. Sherlock stared at his pale hand that spread across the army fatigues in surprise. The glow continued to hover around John’s body, but it would not budge. Sherlock sucked in a breath, staring down at him in wonder. If he could not pull his soul out, maybe he could _push_ it.

The glow began to recede as Sherlock willed it back into John’s body, and Sherlock let out a cry of relief. The wound on his shoulder was still bleeding, but John wasn’t in any danger of dying. Sherlock continued to push, jumping when a hand clasped his.

It was John, his tan skin a stark contrast for Sherlock’s. It gripped his wrist, as if he had gone to throw Sherlock’s hand off, but stopped mid-movement. Sherlock stared at the hand before looking up, gasping audibly when dark blue met silver.

“Hello there.” John said, watching Sherlock warily. “What on earth are you doing?”

“You can see me?” Sherlock blurted out, feeling rather unintelligent about the whole ordeal. Instead of impressing the solider with his brains, he was saying whatever nonsense came to mind.

“Of course…who are you?” John asked, tightening his grip ever so slightly when Sherlock made to pull away. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Of course you have.” Sherlock lied.

“No I haven’t.” John looked amused, struggling to sit up. Sherlock stopped him, putting a hand on his unwounded shoulder. “I would remember a face like yours.”

“It’s unimportant.” Sherlock dismissed his inquiry. “What matters is that you’re alive.”

“I’m-” John asked, wincing as he patted his shoulder. He pulled a hand away, looking at the blood. “I was shot.”

“Yes.” Sherlock nodded. “But you will get better. You will be invalided, and sent home to London.”

“How did you-”

“Live, John Watson.” Sherlock interrupted, freeing his arm from John’s clutches. “Live your life, be happy and healthy.”

“What is your name?” John asked quickly, watching Sherlock stand.

“That is for another time.” Sherlock smiled sadly. “We shall meet again, John, but not for a long time. Go home, and rest. You deserve it.”

With his parting words, Sherlock vanished. If he had asked anyone what happened after he left, he would have been told of how John Watson looked for him, asked every officer if they had seen the pale man in the long coat. They would have explained how John tried to find him, even as they dragged him in for surgery; how, as the weeks dragged by, John convinced himself that he imagined the handsome man in the desert.

Maybe, then, John would never have done something so drastic. 


	10. Chapter 10

The word sat heavy in John’s mind. He had been invalided from the army. They had given him a small pension, a tiny bedsit in London, and a few medals.

Days stretched before him, each more dull than the last. They were like a never ending parade of black and white. Nothing interested him anymore.

Nothing but the hallucination he had had while he had been dying.

Of course, it was obvious now that the whole thing had been in his imagination. The tall pale figure clad in a dark coat would have stood out in the Afghani desert. No, his mind had merely played tricks on him as he lay dying.

John tried to ignore his disappointment.

Of course, the monotony grew tiresome, and John wanted it to end. He just wanted to stop, to sleep forever, to not think anymore. So he planned and prepared, scheduling the day his life would end.

Poison, he decided finally, would be the way to go. Less mess for others to clean up. Really, it was the most considerate option.

 

* * *

 

 

The day arrived, and John felt more alive than he ever had. He went about his daily routines, an extra skip in his step. The day passed quickly, and he soon found himself in his bedsit, a glass filled with clear liquid in one hand.

“What in the hell do you think you are doing?” A deep voice said behind him, and John jumped, his glass falling to the floor and shattering. He whipped around, staring in disbelief at the sight in front of him.

The pale man he had met in the desert was glowering at him, anger in those blue eyes.

“I…who are you?” John blurted out, blinking at the form in front of him. Righteous anger poured from him, and John couldn’t contain a shiver.

“It doesn’t matter right now.” The man said stalking forward and invading John’s personal space. “What matters is how foolishly you’re acting. You were going to attempt to take your own life.”

“You were in the desert with me.” John said, completely ignoring the man’s angry accusation. “You saved my life.”

“Please, John, try to stay on topic.”

“I am.” John huffed, crossing his arms. “You were there when I was bleeding to death in the desert, and here you are now, when I’m about to die.”

“You aren’t about to die.” The man rolled his eyes.

“You’re my guardian angel, aren’t you?” John asked excitedly.

The man scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Nothing so pedantic, John. Really, you couldn’t have insulted me more.”

“A cherub, then?” John teased, earning a sour look from the other man.

“I was wrong. You could have insulted me more.” He sniffed, mirroring John’s posture.

“So, are you saying that you aren’t put on this earth to save me?” John questioned.

“Not in the slightest.” The man replied.

“Then why have you?”

The room was silent for a short moment as the man with the dark hair surveyed John, a confused expression clear on his face.

“Pardon?”

“Why have you saved my life?” John asked. “This is twice, now.”

The man shook his head, a small, quick jerk that caused his curls to bounce. “You are important, John Watson. More than anyone realises.”

“You’re the angel of death, aren’t you?” John said softly, and the man’s eyes widen, a small, surprised smile on his face.

“Of a fashion.” He said. “I am called Sherlock. I hope I won’t see you again.”

Sherlock vanished before John could so much as blink, and disappointment settled heavy in his gut. He spent the better part of an hour cleaning up the broken glass that lay at his feet, making sure not to leave even a sliver.

“I think you’ll be seeing me quicker than you think, Sherlock.” John hummed to himself, practically buzzing to see Sherlock again. “And I can’t wait.”


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock yanked at his hair in frustration as he paced around an apartment in Los Angeles, waiting for a man to die. John Watson was becoming an increasingly appealing thorn in his side, and he didn't know if there was anything he could do to prevent his appalling behaviour, or if he even wanted to prevent it.

John had attempted suicide no less than five times that week, each one more creative than the last. John was being reckless with his life, and Sherlock was terrified that he would somehow succeed in his endeavour.

The man, who had been busy choking on a piece of steak, grew still, his soul glowing brightly. Sherlock sighed, peeled off a glove, and yanked the soul from his body rather roughly. 

"I've got two more deaths to attend to in the next few minutes. John Watson, you had better not try anything." Sherlock muttered to himself.

 

* * *

 

 

The first attempt at suicide had been real, of course. It had been the second time Sherlock had gotten to talk to John, and Sherlock had relished every moment of it, assuming the next time he saw John would be at his final death.

It was only a day later that he was called back, a gun held to John's head and a strange expression on his face that Sherlock thought appeared to be anticipation.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Sherlock demanded, snatching the gun out of John’s hand and tucking it into his greatcoat. “I thought you put all this nonsense behind you.”

“Sherlock.” John grinned at him, looking entirely unconcerned that his life could have ended. “It’s good to see you.”

“I can’t say the same for you.” Sherlock huffed. He wouldn’t give John the satisfaction to know that he _was_ enjoying being able to see him; it might encourage bad behaviour. “I had hoped that our parting would last longer than a day.”

“You…oh, of course.” Something resembling disappointment flashed across John’s face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to inconvenience you or anything.”

“You haven’t.” Sherlock said slowly. “I just…I don’t exactly want you to die just yet.”

“Why not?” John asked.

“I find you fascinating.” Sherlock replied without thinking, freezing when he realised what he had just said.

“You do?” A bright smile spread across John’s face, and Sherlock had to avert his eyes.

“Obviously. Now stop this nonsense at once.” Sherlock snapped, vanishing before John could say anything else.

 

* * *

 

The third and fourth time were very similar. Both involved a homemade noose, and both times Sherlock snapped it before it could so much as tighten. John barely got two words in before Sherlock vanished with a dramatic flair of his coat. He assumed that John would stop with this ridiculous charade if he didn’t encourage the bad behaviour, but only two hours later he found him standing on top of a large building, prepared to jump.

“You idiot.” Sherlock hissed, grabbing John’s coat and yanking him back from the ledge. “Do you have a death wish?”

“Of sorts.” John answered, smiling up at him. “Though, probably not how you’re thinking.”

“You want to see me?” Sherlock guessed, surprised when John nodded. “Why on earth why you want to see me? No one wants to see me.”

“I find you fascinating.” John had said, leaving Sherlock completely flustered. He had vanished, unsure of what else he could do at that point. John couldn’t find him fascinating, not how he found John fascinating, at least.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock sighed as he finished his duties for the day. John had been fairly quiet, something that worried Sherlock immensely. It had been at least twenty-four hours since John’s last attempt, and the silence was concerning.

It would hardly be in bad fashion to check up on John, right? After all, he had been doing it for months before John was nearly killed, he could probably be in and out in a few seconds.

Of course, that was easier said than done. Sherlock checked everywhere he knew looking for John: his flat, a coffee shop he frequented, and a Chinese place down the road, but John wasn’t there.

“God, where could you possibly have gotten to?” Sherlock muttered, walking through Hyde Park quickly, feeling where John’s soul had travelled not too long ago.

In front of him there was a shock of blond-going-grey hair, and Sherlock grinned, quickly hiding himself. While most people saw right through Sherlock, John had discovered how to _see_ , and he would always look.

Not that it mattered much anyway. John was currently in deep conversation with another person, and Sherlock’s insides went icy when he saw who it was. The silver-haired angel beamed at something John said, patting him on his good shoulder.

_Why is Greg talking to John?!_


	12. Chapter 12

John had not been expecting someone to be waiting for him when he walked past his favourite bench on a rare sunny afternoon. He was lost in thought, despondent after his many failed attempts at talking to a certain angel, when a voice broke through his musings.

“Hello, John Watson.”

At first glance, it was easy to assume the man was human. He was handsome, of course, but not necessarily otherworldly. His hair was grey, striking on a man as young as he appeared to be. 

John had learned real quick not to judge based on first glance.

"Who are you?" He asked, staring at the man who was lounging on the bench.

"You can call me Greg." The man said, smiling in a friendly manner. 

"Nice to meet you, Greg." John said slowly, watching his visitor warily. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I thought we needed to have a little chat." Greg said, sighing softly. "It's to do with a mutual friend."

"Sherlock." John said, his mind reeling quickly. It was more of a statement than anything else. The smile Greg shot him made him feel strangely proud.

"Quite right." Greg said. "Sherlock is like my brother, and I do not want to see him hurt."

“Hurt?” John frowned. “Why would he be hurt?”

“What you’re doing…it’s not healthy.” Greg replied. “He’s become very attached to you. It might be hard for you to comprehend; after all, he’s known you for longer than you’ve known him.”

“Are you kidding?” John laughed humourlessly. “He _hates_ me. Won’t stay longer than a minute.”

“You are so very wrong.”

“You’re like him, aren’t you?” John blurted out. “An angel.”

“Perceptive.” Greg smiled. “I can see why he likes you so. Yes, I am. I was known as the angel Gabriel, but as the years have passed, I have changed my name.”

“Gabriel?” John frowned. “Like, the arch-angel?”

“The very same.”

“Right.” John sitting gracelessly. “I’m talking to an arch-angel.”

“You’ve had the angel of death in your bedsit several times, had him chat with you for varying moments of time.” Greg chuckled. “I should think an arch-angel would be old business.”

“Angel of death.” John repeats. “Sherlock…I’ve been terrible, haven’t I?”

“You have been keeping him busy.” Greg snorts. “He’s been complaining to me this entire week about you.”

“Complaining? Shite, I’ve really messed it up, haven’t I?”

“Messed it up?” Greg asked, looking confused.

“I just…I wanted to see him.” John confessed, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. “I…when I saw him in Afghanistan, it was like…starting new. Like, my previous life was over, and I had a whole new future to look forward to.”

“You only wished to see him?”

“Yes. Tell him…tell him I won’t be bothering him anymore.” John said. “Let him know he’ll never have to deal with me again.”

“No?”

“No. Well, I suppose one final time.” John sighs. “But until then, I shall be on my best behaviour.”

Greg clapped him on his good shoulder, giving a short chuckle. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, mate. Sherlock won’t leave you be, any more than you want to be left alone.”

“Really?”

“No. Just tell him what you told me.” Greg smiled, looking over John’s shoulder at something. John followed his gaze, his breath stuttering at the sight of Sherlock, standing there, looking incredibly annoyed.

“He’s be hurt before.” Greg said. “Let him know that it won’t happen again.”

“I…yeah, okay.” John said, turning back to look at Greg, but he was gone. An empty bench greeted him instead, no sign that the angel was ever there. John shook his head before turning back, glad that Sherlock had stayed in place.

“Here goes nothing.” John sucked in a breath, and he stood up, making his way over to Sherlock slowly. This time, he would set things right.


	13. Chapter 13

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. He created man and creature, land and sea, light and darkness, and life and death.

Right now, death was terrified.

John continued his stroll towards him, and Sherlock debated on vanishing again. Of course, Sherlock needed to know why Greg had been talking to John, and vanishing would just upset him. 

"You were quiet today," Sherlock said by way of explanation, the  _why are you here_ clear in John's eyes. "I grew worried."

"You were worried because I didn't try and commit suicide?" He looked amused.

"Yes, well, you have the ability to turn my whole world on its head," Sherlock replied dryly.

"Do I, now?" John grinned up at Sherlock, who proceeded to blush furiously.

"Now, John-"

"Just give me the word," John said, cutting Sherlock off. "And I will leave you alone forever."

Sherlock blinked down at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I've been giving you a hard time," John sighed. "Making your job difficult. If you tell me to stop, I will."

"I don't want you to hurt yourself," Sherlock replied evasively.

"That's not an answer," John replied. "Just tell me to stop, and I will."

"I visited you nearly every day, in Afghanistan," Sherlock blurted out quickly, trying to find the words to explain himself. "After you healed Bill Murray."

"After I...no, that was just luck."

"No, it wasn't," Sherlock shook his head. "I had begun to take his soul when you stopped me."

"Stopped you?" John frowned at him. "I didn't...all I did was grab his chest, I didn't-"

"Yes, you did," Sherlock interrupted. "No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't pull his soul out."

"But, I'm just me..." John broke off, looking shell shocked.

"Yes, you're you. You are brilliant and kind, and the best person I have ever have had the fortune to meet. So no, I don't want to never see you again, John. But the idea of you hurting yourself to see me is loathsome."

John lunged forward at that, pressing his lips against Sherlock's before he could stop him. But  _oh_ , did it feel nice.

"John!" Sherlock broke off the kiss after a moment, terror quickly setting in. After what had happened to Otto…

John was smiling at him, still so very much alive. Sherlock grabbed John, trying to see if he could detect his soul, but there was nothing. 

"You're still alive." The relief was evident, and John reached up to stroke his cheek in response.

"I'm still here. Was that alright?"

"Yes," Sherlock gulped. "More than alright."

"You have finally found each other." A warm voice said, and Sherlock turned to see the Shining One standing there, a fond look on his face. "I was beginning to worry."

"Er, hello." John said awkwardly. "Are you another of Sherlock's brothers?"

The Shining One laughed brightly. "I am not an angel, no."

"I do believe your people have named him 'God'," Sherlock breathed, and John's mouth gaped open. "No need to worry, John. He is our father."

"A bit soon to be meeting your parents, isn't it?" John joked weakly, earning another laugh from The Shining One.

"He was made for you, Sherlock." The Shining One said. "And you, for him."

"I'm just a human." John shook his head, worry still on his face.

"Just as my son was born a human, so too were you," The Shining One replied kindly. "Sherlock needed to find you, and you needed to understand what it was like to be human before you took on the full weight of your responsibilities."

"My responsibilities?" John all but squeaked.

"Sherlock is the angel of death, but without life, there is no death, and without death, we never truly learn to live," The Shining One placed a hand on John, who began to glow a pure light. "So, my child, you shall balance out death, with life."

"The angel of life." Mycroft's voice stole Sherlock's attention, and he turned to look at the angel. "He's been working a long time on him."

"You knew of John?"

"I wasn't allowed to say anything," Mycroft replied. “You were supposed to find him on your own. And you refused to speak to me for over a thousand years.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes in response before turning back to John, who had stopped glowing. Dark blue eyes quickly found his, and they both smiled in response.

“Do you like the violin?” Sherlock asked.

“Do I…what?” John frowned in confusion at the non-sequitur.

“I play the violin when I’m thinking, sometimes I don’t talk for days on end,” Sherlock replied, trying to sound breezy. “Potential flatmates ought to know the worst about each other.”

“Hang on, who said anything about flatmates?”

“I did, just now.” Sherlock paused. “If that’s alright with you.”

“Oh god, yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the final chapter. This moment is so incredibly bittersweet. Insatiable was the first ever fanfiction I started, and I was so nervous to have people read my writing. When this fic got kudos, I cried, and when it got over 10 I cried again. I knew that as soon as I hit 30 kudos that it wouldn't get over that, but you all continue to surprise me with your support. I re-read the first chapter of this fic just the other day, and I can see the improvement in my writing. It's only because of you wonderful people that any of my other fics got off the ground. I love you all so so so much, and I cannot begin to tell you how much you all mean to me.   
> So farewell, Insatiable. It's been fun.
> 
> Robottko


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